


These Sweet Humbling Heights

by jacklalonde



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Fluff, M/M, School Dance!AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-05
Updated: 2013-11-05
Packaged: 2017-12-31 10:48:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1030798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jacklalonde/pseuds/jacklalonde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean's lifelong crush just happens to ask him to dance. He's not sure how to respond to that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	These Sweet Humbling Heights

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this after a drawing/short AU I made got a lot of notes and I got messages insisting and suggesting that I might as well go ahead and write the fic already. However, I lack the drive right now to make it into an actual, decent high school AU right now, so this is what happened. I might add more parts to this if I think of something worthwhile. Also, now that I have your attention, Jean Kirschtein is really great
> 
> Title from Clean White Love by Lisa Mitchell

It’s his first school dance and Jean hasn’t slow danced with anyone all night. They’ve only played about three slow songs so far and he’s excused himself to leave each of the times after reassuring himself that _no_ , he’s not going to stand there alone while everyone else dances around him. Jean hated the moment recognizing the slow melodies beginning to hum of the speakers set up around the room, and especially the process of looking around for a certain face when you know no one’s going to be looking back. But still. Even Armin got someone to dance with him. Jean saw him last time he was filing out for some air—tiny Armin with his baby blue tux and nervous smile while his arms hooked around some poor girl. It was almost enough to make Jean feel a little tick of jealousy. But he pushed the feeling, along with a couple in his way, aside.

And now, leaning over the railing alone next to a group of smokers, Jean wonders if he’s missing out on something. That was the main reason why people went to dances, right? To slow dance while staring awkwardly at each other and maybe fist pump for a couple of hours? Get into some dirty dancing while the teachers that lined the walls weren't looking, maybe get drunk afterwards while splayed out in their Sunday best? Jean sighs, leaning forward further into the night, and silently wishes for it to be over.  
He doesn’t even know why he’s here. He’s never been one for dancing in a gym filled with sweaty kids with harsh lights and bad music, anyway. So far, the entire time he’d been very un-enthusiastically dancing to some pop songs with his friends, before one by one they got lost in the crowd and Jean didn’t bother to find them. That was when he started taking long breaks from the bass-rocked dance floor and sat out of the balcony of the school for some time, trying to avoid eye contact with anyone he didn’t know and just generally looking discontentedly into the distance. This is what he’s doing now, wringing his hands in front of him. In the wintry cold the sweat on the back of his neck is almost freezing. He's spent more time out here than inside, and his shivering is starting to prove that. Jean heaves once in defeat before turning around and heading back inside after trying to get the heat back into his hands. The group next to him almost looks concerned with the defeated boy through their cloud of pale grey smoke. One of them shouts “lighten up, Kirschtein!” and Jean wonders after a glare how these are supposed to be the best years of his life.

In half an hour Jean somehow gets into the dancing, finding Connie first amongst most of his friends and then receiving a rushing wave of “where the hell have you been?”s thrown at him. They should know that he’s not really into this sort of thing. They obviously don’t care though, because they’re pulling him into the center of the group and practically forcing him to do more than stand there and look uncomfortable. But soon enough it gets into his blood; he’s getting too into a song that drops the bass almost every minute and letting the lights block out the faces of the people around him. It all somehow gets Jean’s shoulders to unwind, his dress shirt to seem less uncomfortable, and finally, he’s dancing. Badly. If he gave a fuck who saw him right now he’d probably stop himself from screaming the words to all the songs, doing some sort of jig and dancing with that little brat Eren Jaeger. But he doesn’t, and Eren is actually just as violent a dancer as he is in everything else. In the middle of an embarrassing backpedaling move that’s getting the others to laugh Jean closes his eyes and smiles and – _oh_. Jean’s eyes rip open as another person crashes into him and his mid-dancing feet cause him to tumble off balance.

“Holy shit, I’m so sorry,” says a voice above him, as Jean goes into panic mode, trying to stand up straight again. The boy didn’t try to scream over the music around them, but Jean could recognize his voice anywhere. He feels blood rush to his cheeks even before he tears his head up to look at Marco’s smiling face.

“No, it’s my fault for being a dumbass,” Jean stammers before he can stop himself. Marco’s eyes squint up as he laughs a little, Jean’s favorite noise being drowned out by the next song that’s starting. They stand there for a second wordlessly. The unmistakable beginning chords of a slow song begin to play, and Jean thinks first:  _why the hell is this happening_ and second:  _Marco is still smiling at him._

Jean looks around for some distraction, actually wanting his friends to drag him away or do _something_. He looks behind him to the backs of his friends, pairing up for the next song, but Sasha’s still staring at him. She points at Marco with a flick of her finger, and then raises an eyebrow. Jean tries his best to burn into her with his eyes. When he turns back Jean averts his gaze because Marco is still here and Jean can’t even look him in the eye and oh god is he _drooling?_

 

Jean’s liked Marco since the first time the sun rose, it seems. He’s liked him and he’s only spoken to him a few times. It's pathetic. They're a year apart, so Jean has some sort of excuse, but still. He hasn't acted on his lifelong crush just like he hasn't brought himself to talk to Marco since this song has started. He tries to think back to what they've said to each other. One of the times they spoke was in gym when Marco asked how the hell he could maneuver so well during dodge ball. The shock had hit him hard then, and Jean had only just closed his mouth in time for the next game when he spiked Marco in the shoulder and won the entire game after they were the only two remaining. Marco had winked at him then, but then again Jean thought he did that with everyone. The other times were mostly just off-hand things during class, when their friend groups would clash and Marco would say a quick hello. Now, he’s standing in front of him and Jean isn’t sure he’s even breathing.

Everything witty Jean has ever prepared to say to Marco is out the window and he’s standing in front of the boy of his dreams with his jaw clenched and eyes down.

“Jean,” Marco says, and Jean freezes, eyes finally locking on. Marco then leans forward and down as the words of the song begin. He finishes a spectacular bow and Jean’s mouth drops open as Marco asks him to dance, smiling and letting out a tiny laugh.

“Don’t look so surprised,” Marco says. He picks up Jean’s limp hand and places it in his own, using his other to go behind Jean’s back and pull them together. Jean rigidly tries to follow the easy movement of Marco’s body as he starts to sway but its hard because they’re touching and Marco is looking down at him like he’s not having his foot stepped on with every step.

After another apology, Jean finds some words. “I don’t dance very often,” Jean mutters. Face to face now, Jean can hear Marco’s small laugh.

“Me neither,” but Jean could say otherwise, with how gracefully he's trying to move them now. Jean looks down at their feet and just tries to sway like Marco is as the jazzy singer's voice crackles to life behind the speakers.

“I liked your dancing, earlier,” Marco says, grinning. Jean’s blush worsens and he hides his face in Marco’s shoulder for a second.

“You saw that, huh,” Jean murmurs, and then rips his face up when he realizes how he’s inhaling Marco’s scent and how close he’s made them. “Sorry for that, too.” Marco wordlessly moves their hands so they’re interlocking. Jean’s heart rate goes up a couple hundred beats.

“I don’t mind,” Marco says, single stray hair falling out of place where it's been slicked back. Jean forgets how to form words.

 

As time goes on, Jean finds himself staring at Marco’s tie, how it’s coming a little loose, a small drop of sweat along his collar. He watches Marco swallow and the freckles that dot themselves over his neck and up over the bridge of his nose. Through his thrumming heartbeat and blushing Jean feels like it’s all too much, that this is too real. There's no way Marco wanted to dance with him. With Jean. He drops his hand from where it was resting on Marco’s shoulder and backs up. Marco has still got their fingers locked together.

“I’m sorry, I just…you don’t have to dance with me,” Jean says, and turns. He’ll stop for a drink of water and then walk home if he has to. He can’t stand being in this damn sweatbox anymore and making a fool of himself in front of Marco. Jean widens his hand until it can slip from Marco’s; maybe he’ll talk to him sometime when he’s got himself together and doesn’t feel like the walls are caving in.

“Jean, wait, Jean are you okay?” Paying no attention to his classmate’s faces, Jean weaves through the people until he reaches the doors of the gym, the relief from the heat promising. The song is still playing behind him as he escapes, and damn the fact that it was a good song. He could have enjoyed it if only he’d been someone else— someone who could have joked with and maybe even kissed someone who asked him to dance.

 

Back on the balcony, only a few couples are left. It’s getting too cold, and through his dress shirt Jean can feel the air go back to prickling at his skin. He looks out at the parking lot, hands shoved in his pockets, sweating. Why the hell did he leave Marco? He probably saw how Jean was looking at him. There was no hiding that. He probably saw how much of a wreck he was, as well. Maybe he saw that Marco would have never spoken to him unless they had bumped into each other. That he was doing it out of pity. Maybe that’s why he left.

Jean runs a hand through his blonde hair until it sticks up on all ends. He doesn’t even care anymore. He could sit and stare at this parking lot all night, inhaling the stale smell of the missing smokers.

And he almost does, listening to the songs from inside. He starts humming along and swaying slightly when a particularly good one comes on. He braces himself on the edge of the railing and leans over, sighing. The best years of his life.

“Am I going to have to come save you when you fall off?” Marco’s voice comes from behind. Instead of falling forward, Jean straightens and immediately goes to fix his mussed hair. He can feel the blush coming back already. Goddammit.

“I’m not always this horrible,” is the only thing Jean can think of saying. He isn't facing Marco yet, so he lets himself grimace over how stupid he sounds. Not only has he stepped on this boy’s foot at least seven times, he’s just been showing off his ass while almost falling off a railing in front of him. In under an hour Jean has completely ruined his chances. Nice.

Marco somehow laughs again, and then it falters. Jean finally has the guts to turn around.

“Why didn’t you want to dance with me?” Marco asks, his hands in his pockets, eyeing the pavement with concern. His voice has gotten softer, and he’s standing so far away and sadly that Jean has to force himself to swallow his nervousness and answer.

“I did want to. I just didn’t…want to let you down,” Jean leans back on the railing. “And look like an idiot. But I sort of do that on my own, I guess. Even when I’m not dancing.” Marco doesn’t do anything, just stares down at his shoes, shiny in the fluorescent lighting of the balcony. The fairy lights strung around the rails casts shadows over the both of them. Jean’s bow tie feels especially constricting, so he tries to talk to get it to loosen. “I wanted to dance with you, and I still want to dance with you, but I’m me and you’re you and if I tried to dance with you for more than a minute or even if I tried to talk to you for over a minute you’d see how hard it is for me to be anything but pathetic around you. And it’s not like—“

“Hey, Jean? Marco strides over and stands right in front of him, hands still in his pockets. He still doesn’t look up. “You’re not an idiot.” He finally lifts his eyes, sparkling from the lights behind them, and Jean tries to give a little smirk. “I mean, you are, and you always act like you don’t care about anything or anyone, but tonight watching you get flustered and blush has been great...because I think I might actually be seeing _you_. And I really like seeing you.”

It takes Jean a minute. "I didn't know you saw me before."

"How could I not?" Marco shifts his weight a little closer. "I've just never known when I would finally suck it up and do something. You slamming into me was my little whisper that fate was finally catching up to my head." He lifts a hand and Jean watches it settle on his cheek. “Is it strange that I’m okay with saying all of this to you?” Jean shakes his head a little. Marco’s eyes start to close and his head is getting closer and Jean’s slightly quivering hands move from the railing to somehow fall to Marco’s hips.

“I’m a little nervous,” Jean whispers.

“I can tell,” Marco murmurs back, and this time it’s Jean who breathes a laugh through his nose. His heart beats at the speed of a freight train and Marco reaches his other hand to Jean’s other cheek and smashes their lips together.

It isn’t easy transitioning from the initial thought of _holy shit_ , but once he forgets almost everything Jean is left to move his lips alongside Marco’s and think only that this is giving him more adrenaline than hanging off the edge of a railing. Marco moves closer somehow, Jean’s back bumping against the rail behind him, and he snakes his arms around Marco’s neck and almost grimaces at how ridiculous this is. Marco is nipping at his lips and laughing to himself and letting his hand go through Jean’s hair and Jean is sighing into it, his shaking hands steadying themselves by gripping Marco’s shirt.

“Oh my god.” Jean didn’t even hear the door to the balcony open. Eren, wild brown hair flecked with sweat and Armin in his blue suit are standing in the doorway, gawking. Jean resists the urge to fully push Marco off him, and Marco takes his time to turn around and face the boys in the door, lips pink and eyes wide. Behind Eren and Armin, someone pushes through and Connie and Sasha are practically falling into the chilly air.

“What is it, guys?” Jean rubs a hand over his face to hide the coming embarrassment.

“Did it finally happen?” Sasha asks.

“’It’?” Marco questions. Jean swallows. Maybe the cold is getting to his head, but he thinks that Marco may have just made out with him.

“You two…?” Connie prompts.

“I guess so.” Marco is the one who says it, and Jean watches the back of his head as the faces of his friends either turn to delight or complete shock. The music inside has paused and the DJ announces that this will be the last song of the night. Sasha excitedly pulls the others inside, Eren giving one conflicted look toward them—it was much harder to hate Marco than Jean and the idea of them together was probably tearing him two directions—and then he heads back inside. Jean pushes himself off the railing so he’s standing. His lips can still feel the ghost of Marco's, and it makes him involuntarily smile.

“Can we try this again?” Jean asks the boy in front of him. Marco turns around, raising his hand for Jean’s cheek and starting to lean in.

“I thought it went pretty well the first time.” Jean can’t help it; he pushes Marco slightly off him, leans back and laughs, up at the night sky with Marco next to him joining in. Jean then leans up to him, pulls him by his loose tie and kisses him softy.

“Can I try dancing with you again,” Jean whispers.

“It would be my pleasure.” Marco pulls him in quickly, his hands moving into position and the song inside the gym being muffled by the closed doors.

Jean steps on his foot within seconds, and winces, apologizing. _Not again_. Marco takes Jean by under his arms and places him on top of his feet, Jean now level with his face.

“We are not doing this right now,” Jean says, as Marco starts to step side to side and Jean struggles not to fall off his feet.

“Yes, we are.” They lock eyes, a little bewildered look between them that makes each of their hearts skip. “And now we both look like idiots.”

Jean forgets how long they stay there.

It feels like all night.

**Author's Note:**

> If you somehow need to contact me/see the post that started it all, my tumblr is jacklalonde.tumblr.com. Thanks!!


End file.
